


Reckoning

by anno_Hreog



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Other, PWP, Tentacles, Underage Character, dubcon, filthy filthy porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now, run along, little godling. We shall soon have our reckoning."</p><p>In <i>Journey into Mystery (#627)</i>, kid!Loki strikes up a bargain with Mephisto. Now, he pays up. Demon sex ensues.</p><p> </p><p>Underage for resurrected Norse gods, and dubcon as far as paying back your debt in trade is worth. No actual spoilers for #645 are contained herein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tyger and the Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> After ending a long angsty fic, instead of letting off steam with goofy fluffy stuff, I ended up with a handful of demon sex. [Illustrated panel reference!](http://images.wikia.com/marveldatabase/images/3/31/Nm_43_loki_mephisto.png)
> 
> This is not unapologetic porn. This porn is very very sorry for being dirty dirty filthy sick stuff.  
> Also, because I find [this guy](http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/11/113800/2460881-642141_mephisto_dougie_braitwaithe04_super.jpg) kinda hot. /double entendre

 

 

 

“Open your legs. I want to see you ready for me. There’s a good lad. Now, keep them spread.”

Hot breath tickled at his pubes, and a long pointed fingernail traced his ball sac and palmed his soft cock.

He whimpered, but kept his thighs open, trembling, and a rumble of laughter rolled through the dark room. A light switched on overhead, a single flame shining over him like a spotlight.

He felt the grooves on the altar under his back, smelled the faint hint of rust and old blood.

Around him, he could see only faint hulking shapes looming in the dark, while their eyes roamed freely over his bare bright body. Someone grabbed his wrists and he struggled as his arms were stretched out over his head. There was more laughter, and a hand at each ankle kept him from closing his knees.

Something wet licked his hole, and he let out a scream.

“Gag him,” someone said.

“No,” said the one between his legs. His cock was a soft, scared thing in this large hand. “I want to hear his little noises. But you’ll keep quiet for me, won’t you, boy?” The hand squeezed, and wincing in pain, he nodded frantically. “There's a good boy.”

The tongue was back, wet and insistent, slavering at his puckered hole, and he bit back a whine. His spine curled, and he pushed back his hips.

“He wants more. Stick it in his hole, give it to him. He wants it bad,” said a voice to his right, and his face burned.

Laughter rolling sinfully at his arse, the thick wet tongue entered him, a slick wet bud at first and growing progressively thicker. And longer. He bit back a scream. His hole was looser now as he lay there, panting, letting out small, desperate gasps as the One laved at his insides, tickling the sensitive puckered skin, thrusting inside, snaking in his insides, _flickering_ …

He clenched and unclenched his fists, and wriggled his hips, ashamed, wanting more, wanting to hide, he didn’t know, he didn’t know, _he didn’t know!_

“Look at him, the little slut. He’s begging to be fucked.”

“No, not yet. Take over.”

And the tongue slipped out, quick as a snake, and he was cold now, and empty, his hole wet and winking in the air.

Another tongue entered him, thicker this time, and shoved in to the root. Before he could buck, a mouth descended on his cock, and took him down to the balls. He gasped, thrusting up into the warm wet hel. Rough hands held him down.

“You like that, do you? Lie back and think of Asgard.”

He tried to rut in shallow thrusts into that mouth as he was pinned down, fingers digging into his pelvis, his ribs, against the pulsing throb of his jugular. He was so small in their hands. A flame-like tongue flicked inside him. Even his cock was too small inside that hot cavern of a mouth, a mouth whose tongue rolled him around playfully, and laughed as he got hard, stiff and bobbing around the supple tongue. It sucked that much harder at him, as if it meant to pulled the very skin from his cock, and he whined, a high-pitched desperate sound.

“Shut up.” 

The tongue pulled out of his arse, and sucked at his balls, mouthing at them and dragging them down.

A spit-slicked finger pushed inside and stretched him out, buried inside him to the knuckle, and started _probing_ , and he gasped.

“He’s nice and loose. Fuck him.”

“No.”

The mouth on his cock, so hot, pulling so tight, then letting go, slicking its tongue around him, and he couldn’t bear it anymore. The finger inside pushed and probed and something _tingled_ , the shock running up his spine, and the light above was blinding, and he bucked. A hand pressed over his mouth before he could scream, a large rough thumb pushing inside.

“Suck it.”

And he did, begging silently with his mouth, taking it in deeper, as the thumb pressed down on his tongue and at the back of his throat, and he almost choked on it.

The finger up his arse found the spot again, and he couldn’t make a sound, and his cock strained, painfully hard, and his nerves were aflame at the soft scrape of teeth –

His balls tightened painfully before he spilled and spilled, and that hot hungry mouth sucked and sucked as he jerked into it, his body spasming with relief. It covered him easily, taking in his balls and even his springy hairs, tight and hot around him while the finger pistoned in and out to the jagged movement of his hips, sending shock after burning shock through his body.

He hit his head on the altar as he thrashed. And he was crying while the laughter rumbled around his cock and he was being milked dry, spilling and spilling until his cock sputtered, down to the last drop, and still it laved around him.

“There, there, boy, we’re almost ready.”

 _Almost_?

He was shivering, sweat evaporating off his skin like rubbing alcohol, and his skin tingled all over. He didn’t want them to touch him any more, but the hands kept _touching_ him. He pulled away, as the fingers played with his now limp cock, and slicker stuff was rubbed over his hole.

“No….:” he whined, and a sharp slap across the face stopped him.

“You don’t get to talk.”

“Make him talk. Make him beg,” said another. “Make him beg to suck us off.”

“Gag him with your cock.”

“Later,” said the One.

The One who pulled him up, weak and boneless as he was, to lie across his lap and caressed his arse. A large hand slipped under him and covered his cock, cupping him easily. He shook his head, but he was rubbing his face into a sleek heated thigh instead, thickly muscled and crimson.

A slicked finger entered his arse, and trying to move his sensitive cock away from that hand, he raised his arse higher instead. Begging. Begging for a slap. Begging to be spared.

The light sting of the hand spread across a cheek, and another. Then a wet kiss smoothed it away.

Demon laughter was gentle and it crawled over his skin like flames. Another finger joined the first, more slick glopping over his hole, and scissored it wider and wider. Another finger. They twisted and stretched, pushing inside to find that spot in him again, and he cried out softly. He moaned and rubbed, and didn’t want to be rubbed, and it didn’t matter because that hand played with him, gently running up his cock and fondling his balls. 

“Beg,” said the voices. “Beg us to fuck you, little demon slut. Show us how eager you are for demon cock.”

But the One laughed again.

“He doesn’t need to beg,” he said softly. “It doesn’t matter what he wants.”

Fingers spread his butt cheeks, digging into them as he was lifted and his hole gaped open, ready and never ready enough. The head pressed at his hole, deceptively soft, and nudged it even wider open, and he strained and whimpered again.

Fiery lips brushed over his, flickering flame, and he opened his mouth obediently as he was lowered onto the cock.

 _“No, no, no…”_  but it was swallowed up in that deep dark mouth.

Slowly now, a hand rubbing gently over his back, flames wiping away the tear that leaked out of the corner of his eye, slowly the cock pushed inside a hair’s breath more, burning, and stretching him wider, filling him up.

“I can’t—”

“Hush now. You will.”

The tears flowed freely now, as the hand played idly with his cock, grasping and letting go, slicking it up again to stand painfully erect as the demon cock penetrated him, and he drew panted gasps, short and shallow as he dared until it was seated fully inside him. He couldn’t breathe.

“Breathe,” he was ordered, and he did.

It was too full, too big, too wide, and it split him open.

“There, I knew you could do it. Now move.”

He stared, wide-eyed at the eyes of flame, the wide, thin-lipped grin that looked down, amused at his desperate face, and thighs straining, he lifted himself slowly on that cock, feeling it drag through his insides and gritted his teeth as slowly he sat himself down again, feeling stretched anew. He swallowed a sob.

“Good lad. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” said the One, and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

“Now, bounce.”

Hands, so many hands groped him from behind, pinching his nipples into pebbles, wandering over his chest and raking long pointed nails over his soft belly, combing through his pubes, and he bounced, fucking himself on that demon cock.

The muscles in his legs screamed for mercy as he pumped the cock, not allowed to tire, not when fingers played with him, making him hard again – _no, no, no, no, no_ – stroking down his length and slicking him with warm slippery juices, and he splurted helplessly across the red flesh of the demon.

White sprayed cross his chest, his stomach, and the demon only laughed and gathered his face between his hands and kissed him deeply, swallowing up his moaning, stealing his voice, his cries for mercy, for pleasure, and pain.

And the cock was still hard, jutting inside him insistently, long after he’d gone soft again, and hands hooked him under his arms and lifted him up and down to keep moving, faster and faster.

They played with him, arranging his body so the cock would jab at that terrible, wonderful, _please no more,_ spot inside him, and then miss it just so that he would squirm and wriggle to hit it, and all he had left were animal grunts, burned out nerve endings that screamed hoarsely as he rutted, impaling himself again and again on that monstrous cock, until finally the demon spilled inside him.

The hot spray of seed burned his insides, and he slumped forward onto the crimson chest in relief, as his body was pumped for the last spurts.

Sighing, he leaned against the sinewy crimson chest, feeling the cock go soft inside, large and tumescent, and he felt scoured of all sensation and tingling from too much of it that he thought he would burn and burn. Everything would burn.

“You did well, boy,” said the One. “I shall enjoy this,” and licked a long, hot stripe up his cheek, tenderly, the tongue no longer wet and slick now, but dry as sandpaper. Like a large cat with large pointed teeth.

He felt the cock drag out of his insides, slowly, and his nerves screamed in protest, but his mouth was ashes, and he was only a puppet. An unresisting hole.

The sweetest of sweet holes, and so precious, said the One, as he was placed on the alter again, this time on his hands and knees, cum dripping out of his arse and trickling down his thigh.

The demon place a last lingering kiss on his gaping wet hole before he stepped back.

“Who’s next?”

 

 

 

 


	2. Burning Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with demon orgy and tentacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone pointed out that Loki paid his debt in part I. But we still wanted more dirty dirty porn. So, they came up with [a few rationales.](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/1526922) Pick and choose, no waiting. 
> 
> Except for demons waiting their turn.

 

 

 

They fetched a delicate string of silver and tied it around the base of his cock so he wouldn’t come while they fucked him.

At first he was glad of it. His cock ached from coming too much already, from being toyed with by demon tongues and demon fingers. They ran their pointed teeth along his sensitive skin, and he tried to scream.

But Mephisto had taken his voice.

“It’s only temporary, my sweet,” said the demon. “You won’t need it for now, my darling lord of lies.”

Beelzebub didn’t like the sound of that; he was the original Lord of Lies. He took his turn first, pushing into him roughly, and Loki gasped at the burn. It wasn’t easier the second time, even with his hole stretched out and sloppy.

“Do you like that, little god? Tell me how much you like it.”  


Loki could only grunt as the demon pounded into him, and he let out a small whimper as razor sharp nails traced the soft underside of his sac.

“How about I cut you a nice wet cunt, right here? You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you? Say you don’t want it. Can’t, can you?”

Claws dug into his hips, pulling him back to meet each punishing thrust, the rhythm beating like drums between his ears. Another demon cock pried open his lips and filled his mouth, nudging at the back of his throat.

Gagging, his knee slipped, and somewhere in the background Mephisto’s laugh rolled around him like a sea of flames.

“Be gentle with him, boys. Our dear Loki will be staying a while.”

§

In hell, time is fluid.

A moment, an eternity, the past, and the past, and the past, they all mingled and became now.

Right now all he knew was a cock shoving into him from behind, and another cock fucking his mouth, as if they wanted to skewer him through and through and meet in the middle. Two demons rocked him between them, rutting away like animals, and fingers twisted at his nipples and slapped his cock. Slapped his buttocks until they burned, too, though they were told not to be too rough. It wasn't that kind of game. No whips, no blades, no ropes.

They understood. They'd fuck him till he crawled and begged and licked their hands. 

He choked again, and perfectly manicured fingers were at his throat, angling him so he could take in the cock deeper.

“There you go, Loki my darling. You’re a natural.” Mephisto stroked his hair as cum spilled in his mouth, hot and bitter. “Good boy. Swallow it all. You’ll like the taste of sin.”

His cock was hard again, hard when Beelzebub spurted his demon seed inside his guts, hard when he pulled out, and another demon took his place. This one put him on his back and pushed his knees to his chest.

“Flexible little thing, isn’t he?” said Mephisto, stroking his chest. “Sweet boy, you’re doing so well. You could take on an entire legion of hell like a proper whore. You are that, aren’t you? A whore for the side of light?” 

Loki turned his head away, and Mephisto grabbed him by the jaw.

“Don’t, darling boy. Look at me. Are you pretending you’re somewhere else? You’re in hell, and it’s not your brother who’s fucking you. Were you saving yourself for him?”

He tried to shake his head, and Mephisto gestured for another demon to sit on his face and feed him his cock.

“Eyes wide open, my boy. Look at me. Look around you. Never lie to yourself.” 

He stroked Loki’s cheek as the demon fucked his mouth and pulled out, spurting his cum in hot glops over his face. Mephisto wiped it away and smiled down at Loki as Loki sucked his fingers clean obediently.

He thought of Thor, and Paris, and how he’d felt the memory spark between them. How Thor had wanted to touch him, but held back because of his goodness and his guilt, and Loki's lost innocence strained at that. But he was a god, and over a thousand years old and born again, and innocence was a tattered old lie. Oh, but he wished he could have had Thor when he was still pure. How he would have trembled at the freshness, quivered at the slightest brush of his lips, his sigh, his kind embrace.

But here he was, pinned down and fucked by demons in each hole, and _could have been_ was everyone else’s sad song.

“Oh dear me, were you a virgin?” Mephisto chortled at that. “Was I your first? You should have said so. But I am pleased we could make this occasion memorable.”

The demon between his legs was finishing now, his pistoning becoming ragged and jerky before he milked his cock inside, and pulled out with a wet _plop_. The next one wanted him over the altar, kicking open his legs again and plunging in, pushing his face into the grooves.

He was fed cocks, one after the other, and he milked them dry like a good lad, and shifted his hips so they could rut inside him easily. They arranged him as they pleased, face down on the altar with his wrists pinned behind his back, riding their cocks on their laps, his long coltish legs wrapped around their waists, spreading his cheeks wide with his own hands, on his back with his ankles pushed back to his ears, then back on his knees like a dog, his arse raised invitingly and high for their wicked pleasure. Mephisto crooned in his ear at what a good little slut he was.

And it was so important to be good, after all, in hell.

They didn’t kiss him like Mephisto did after he was finished sucking cock, didn’t try to pull his soul out through his very breath.

But they tormented his cock, sucking at it and slapping at it while they stuck their fingers inside his arse and played with the sloppy mess they found there, painting his buttocks white and laughing when they found the special, special place that made his knees buckle.

A pair liked to soak up the light from his pale godling flesh, liked the way he struggled between their sinewy red bodies. One hard demon cock jutting hot against his tender stomach, as if it meant to tear him open, and another behind him, moving slick between his thighs as he writhed, desperate for release and not getting it. His ball sacs were taut as ripe plums under their wet, flickering tongues curling like adders around him. He thought they’d take him, two at the same time, but they didn’t. Demons didn’t like to share, and rubbing inside the same hole at the same time was too much to ask of a creature of the underworld.

“We’re a selfish lot, my sweet,” said Mephisto. “But don’t you worry. We have something lovely saved for the end.”

Finally, the largest of them pulled Loki away from the others’ tongues, and somewhere in his mind, a small spark of light resisted – he’d seen jotunns with slimmer cocks. But his strength had fled, and he was dripping with cum and fucking the air in front of him helplessly. His cock would burst, and they tugged at the strings, laughing.

“Oh no, nothing so boring as that,” Mephisto reassured him, as the giant demon laid him on the altar again, flat on his back and his legs splayed open.

For a moment, he took a deep breath, feeling the cold flat stone. The air was hot with sex and sweat and warm flesh. It smelled of brimstone and ashes. He was tired out, worn out, used out, and at the same time strung taut as a wire, every nerve ending alert and screaming. His cock was almost as red as theirs now, but hard and hurting, and he would give up whatever he had left if he could just _come._ He was grateful Mephisto had taken his voice.

Then, the demons gathered around, leering, and started rubbing their limp cocks over his body, wiping the cum off of themselves. They liked his face best because it was sweet, and sweeter still Mephisto said, splattered in seed.

“I’d train you up a proper cockslut if you were mine, ready to ride a horse’s cock at the snap of my fingers, and swallowing cum like mother’s milkshake.” Mephisto was playing with a piece of black rubber. “Chained up, naked and kneeling at my throne – gold, my sweet, or do you prefer silver? You could suck me off while I attend boring meetings. My friends would love you. We could play with you during breaks. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my darling? Spread out naked on a boardroom table? Have you ever been molested by a group of businessmen in suits? It’s the devil’s playground, my boy. And we have the best toys.”

The demons were sitting back, their eyes sparkling and alert as dogs before meat, and they were fixed, not on Mephisto, but on Loki. He tried to close his knees and Mephisto stopped him, yanking them wide apart, and hooking his ankles at the carved edge of the marble.

“Not yet, lovely boy, not yet. You’re all dirty, and in no state to go anywhere.” He raked his gaze over Loki’s body. “You couldn’t walk out of here if you tried.”

He dropped the black rubber on Loki’s stomach, and Loki winced instinctively, thinking it would burn.

But the thing was cool and wet, and went splat on his stomach, nesting inside the dip of his navel and spread, in the shape of a starfish, no, an octopus. Its tentacles grew longer as it spread over him, and a thousand tiny suction cups slurped away at his cum stained skin, a cool contrast to the heated couplings, the stinging pain. 

He writhed and wriggled under its reach, his breath shallow and quickening, and he bit back a moan. The long thin tentacles poked at him for any crevice, and finding his arse, it leapt, delighted at the gaping, sloppy hole and the slippery mess inside, and he screamed - his voice finally freed - as it slithered inside him and Mephisto pulled at the bow of the silver thread, releasing his cock.

And then he screamed and screamed again, his back arching like a bow, hips bucking into the air as he came, his long delayed orgasm crashing like a thunderbolt and frying out his nerves as he writhed and thrashed on the stone altar, and the black, slippery, tentacled _thing_ rushed through inside him, filling him up as he’d never been filled before.

“Oh dear,” said Mephisto, wiping the splatter of cum from his own cheek and licking it off. “I seem to have miscalculated.”

But Loki didn’t hear him, as he rode out this agonizing pleasure for what felt like an age – though in hell, remember, time is fluid – and the tentacles fucked its way through and out of him, until it came up his throat, and drowned out the last of his hoarse cries.

“You are quite a jewel, my dear. I _shall_ miss you," said Mephisto. "And now, we are even.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Better Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really wasn’t fair. Mephisto kissed _him_ all the time. 
> 
> So, it was really, honestly, completely, _not fair_ that he got so pissed off at Loki for kissing him back.
> 
> But try telling that to the lord of the underworld when you’re the god of lies reborn, and he’s fucking you raw on the throne of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, _Journey into Mystery 645_ happened. When I'm sad, I write smut, and it sometimes makes things better. No disrespect intended for our sad "Everything Burns" feelings; the balm is in part 4. Anyway, this is dirty shameful underage smut you're reading here.
> 
> No actual spoilers for 645 are contained herein.

 

 

It started with a kiss.

And that was really, probably, most likely an _accident_ , honestly. But try telling that to the lord of the underworld when you’re the god of lies reborn, and he’s fucking you raw on the throne of hell.

So, maybe they were just in a rut.

Okay, that was bad. Maybe that’s why they think you’re lying all the time. Seriously, Loki?

 

 

§

 

As always, he descended the steps perfectly dressed and not a hair out of place, black leggings, green tunic, and the bands of gold shining like the last beacons of hope. A little pert, more than a little cocky, and definitely too good for you, _all of you_ , his every movement seemed to say. Mephisto liked it that way; he liked watching the proud fall and the pure sullied. It was demon nature.

It was all the better to have the demons descend upon him like slavering hyenas and pull his clothes from him, leaving him disheveled and bare, vulnerable and shivering. He never cowered, though, never begged. He never put up a real fight, either – that would have been uncouth.

“You are delicious, my dear,” the demon said, nudging his knees apart as he pulled him onto his lap. “That barely concealed look of disgust, that bred-in-the-bone Asgardian contempt for all lesser beings. How do you put up with the likes of us? You’re a mirror image of your self-righteous brother.”

Loki turned his head away.

“No,” was all he said, though whether that was in denial of the resemblance or a protest against what was being done to him, it wasn’t clear. Mephisto only laughed, and brushed flickering flames along the nape of his neck.

The monstrous red cock was hardening already, filling with blood and heat and growing dark in anticipation, and the demon took the slender white hand and wrapped it around him.

“There’s a good lad. You know what to do.”

He smoothed his palm up that cock, ran his fingers over skin unbearably soft for all that hard, demon lust underneath, felt the throb of the vein pulsing on the underside, the cock too large to close his fist around it. His own cock was a small, trembling thing, lying quiescent and half-crushed, hoping it would go unnoticed.

The demon always noticed.

“My dear, my dear, we can’t have this.” Mephisto gestured for this demons, and already, hands were parting his buttocks, and fingers, so many fingers were curling over his ribs, pinching his nipples, wandering down to comb through his pubic hair. Loki could feel the smaller ones crawling up his leg, and he tried to shake them off.

“That’s not very nice, sweet thing,” said Mephisto. “They only want a piece of you, and you’ll give it to them.”

“No,” he said again, and Mephisto liked that especially. Demon hands were already playing with his cock, weighing his balls between their fingers like fruit squeezed for ripeness, and slick fingers pressed into him from behind.

With a gasp, he was pushed into that great red chest, his cock hardening as it rubbed against the larger, demon cock. His breath caught in his throat, and he keened, helpless and wriggling in their hands as they worked his hole, teasing it open.

They liked to put _things_ inside him, long slippery things, cold things, things that wriggled and probed and pushed on their own. Things that made him jerk his hips forward and rut in shallow thrusts, his thighs spread wide on the lap of the demon lord of the underworld.

All the while, his hands worked furiously up and down the rigid red prick, Mephisto’s perfectly manicured claws in his hair, soothing, his fiery breath whispering in Loki’s ear, telling him how perfect he was, how utterly debauched and despoiled, how lovely and young and maleable, as one hand raised his thigh and pushed it high and up, his muscles straining as the demon cock nudged its head inside.

 

Oh, but no matter how much they prepared him, no matter how much slick they rubbed in, no matter how much they relaxed and played with his hole, he was never quite prepared for that cock stretching out that ring of muscle, never loose enough so it could ever push in without burning so hot it felt like tearing him apart from the inside.

Mephisto liked the way he screamed.

So much that his hands curled around the base of Loki’s neck, caressed the line of Loki’s jaw as if cradling a delicate flower, and he drank deep, swallowing the sounds of pain and desperation, of pleasure and shameless lust. He didn’t call it kissing. He called it stealing breath.

 

 

§

 

It really wasn’t _fair_. Mephisto kissed _him_ all the time.

He kissed him when he stood Loki on the throne of the underworld so they were of a height, and he reached down and played with his soft cock, fondling it oh so slowly into hardness, Loki’s own fists curled up into helpless fists at his side.

Loki wasn’t allowed to do anything, touch anything, move at all while the demon sped up his strokes and pulled away, pressed his fingers at the slit and rubbed the weeping precome over his slender length, playing with the soft loose skin at the head, then pinching at his tautened balls, so sharp and so painfully that he’d wilt and soften, and then, Mephisto would start all over again.

“Let’s see if we can last an hour, my pet,” he’d say, and tease him and play with him, stop mouthing his balls only long enough to rise and kiss him, thrusting so insistent and deep as if he meant to fuck Loki’s throat with his demon tongue.

Loki never could make it up to an hour, though, not even half an hour. He was a god, albeit a small one, but in this body, he was still too young, too weak, too little of everything. He’d shoot his load all over the demon’s stomach, and then he’d have to clean it up, in small kittenish licks.

 

Mephisto would lean in to kiss him from behind when he put Loki on his lap, like a child in a blasphemous tableau, demon cock pressed hard against his backside and Loki’s thighs spread wide and hooked over his knees. The demons would approach the throne on their knees and offer to suck off his lovely prize, one by one, until Loki was bone dry and aching and telling them, his voice hoarse from crying out, to please stop. They never listened though.

 

And Mephisto always kissed him when he was being fucked, when the other demons put him on his knees and used him and passed him around and fucked him in turns and squirted their loads on his back, Mephisto was always there kissing him.

Little pecks of kisses, deep, wet, lingering kisses, tongue curled around tongue and sliding over the roof of his mouth, nibbling and suckling at his lips as if his mouth was a fountain of pure, dark, undiluted sin.

So, it was really, honestly not fair that he got so pissed off at Loki for kissing him back. It wasn't like it even _meant_ anything.

Honestly.

 

 

§

 

Loki didn’t mean to go back, really, he didn’t.

But he had work to do, people to wheedle and sway, worlds to save (even if said world was hateful and ungrateful), schemes to scheme and plots to plot and…. A boy couldn’t do all _that_ and be tense and wound up with nothing but pictures of Midgardian rutting and his own left hand as his best buddy.

Not when he’d been through a demon orgy that fucked him out so thoroughly and bonelessly that he didn’t have a stray distracting sex thought until… well, until the next time he descended those fiery steps, and by then, they had a good thing going.

A bad thing. A _good_ bad thing. Demons could be so touchy about stuff like that. Like they’d suddenly molt white feathers and start strumming at harp-like instruments if they’d accidentally said ‘love’ or ‘good.’ Completely superstitious, those religious types.

 

 

§

 

It felt like forever, it always did, when Mephisto’s cock pushed inside him, burning and stretching and filling him up so tight and full that he ended up trying to half crawl up the great expanse of that chest to get away from it. And still it pushed inside.

It always hurt, and hurt so wonderfully, and Mephisto liked to lick away his tears.

“Fuck yourself. Fuck yourself on my cock, my dear.”

And he did, swallowing hard as the titter of demon laughter rolled around him, feeling the pull of that cock inside as it dragged its way out and sitting down again, all the breath sucked out of him as he did, that horrible, terrible, utterly brilliant ache inside, growing, building, the heat pooling low in his gut, as the demons pinched and pulled at him.

His cock stirred awake again rubbing itself against hard demon flesh as he fucked himself on Mephisto’s cock, in Mephisto’s lap, as Mephisto watched through lazy half-lidded eyes as if he was only amused, as if he felt nothing, as if it wasn’t his cock inside Loki, his cock that made the boy breathless and desperate, his cock jutting over and over at that place inside that made Loki’s thighs weak and his pace falter and his knees hit the back of the throne.

He wrapped thin arms around the demon’s neck, the zing of electric white pleasure overtaking the pain, and when the demon’s lips caught his and the demon’s tongue invaded his mouth, he suckled at it, wanting to cling to something, needing the bruising lips on his, breathed in breath for breath, sliding tongue against wet, demanding tongue.

So, yeah, Loki kissed him back.

 

One moment, he was fucking himself on a ginormous huge demon cock, a hundred demon fingers feeling him up all over like he’s everybody’s favorite fucktoy, the next, that cock’s pulling out of him so fast he’s sure it’s left permanent cock-burn on his insides, and he’s landed flat on his back – ow, these stones are hard – and staring up dazed at a furious demon lord.

 

“ _What,_ ” Mephisto was saying, slowly, carefully, “in the name of Hell, was that?”

His cock, huge, wet, hard, was bobbing angrily against his stomach. He hadn’t come yet, pulling out like that out of Loki’s ass. And from the look on Mephisto’s face, nobody was going to come today until Daddy got himself some answers.

“Nothing,” Loki said quickly, scrambling fast for his scattered wits. “Absolutely nothing. I was fucking, I mean you were fucking me –”

“Did you _enjoy_ that, Loki?” Mephisto asked, his voice silky smooth again. “Did you enjoy our _love-making_? Did you _like_ it?”

Loki shook his head wildly, then, at the demon’s look of mock dismay, switched to frantic nodding.

“Yeah, you were great,” babbled Loki. “Awesome. No, wait. I meant _awful_. It was horrible. You’re an absolutely shitty, terrible fuck. I don’t know why they let you even own a dick, you’re so rubbish at it. No, that’s not what I meant. It. It. It was horrible. Don’t make me do that again, please, you’re so big, and it hurt so much, and I hate it and it makes me feel _soooo_ bad –”

“You’re a terrible liar,” said Mephisto dryly, yanking him up by the arm and dragging him to the other side of the hall. “And you used to be so much better at it, if you weren’t as sweet and virginal. Pity, and I did so enjoy our little sessions. Oh well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk.”

He flung Loki onto the stone altar, and clapped his hands. “Boys. I think we shall prepare for the festive season.”

“Wait, what are you –”

A hand clamped down over his mouth, and he swallowed a silent scream as he saw a golden needle come down to sew it shut.

It stopped before it pierced his lips.

“No,” said Mephisto, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. “That would elicit pity and remorse. We can’t have that. Bring me the gag. No, the larger one. Number 13.”

The demon was casually stroking himself as they pushed the dildo into Loki’s mouth. It looked so real, and smelled and felt and tasted of cock, and for a second, it squirmed inside his mouth and nudged at the back of his throat that he almost choked – and Loki remembered he was in Hell, of course they had real dicks for dildos. But the come leaking into his mouth tasted sweet, like candy corn, when he managed to swallow around it and not gag on his own spit.

“No, no, my dear,” said Mephisto, not taking a break from working on his own cock, and he tilted Loki’s head up. “You know how to take a cock deep-throat. Best show off your lovely skills, shan’t we? All the wonderfully clever little things you’ve picked up from your stay here. Your brother will be so impressed. Ah…”

_His brother._

And that’s when he really started to fight, fight against the demon hands that weren’t stripping and fucking him anymore, but holding him down as Mephisto spilled his seed all over his back, and turned him over so he could drizzle the last of it over Loki’s own cock, the hot white fluid soaking into his pubic hairs.

And all through this, they held him down, pinned him to the altar so he couldn’t do more than struggle when the cock was wiped clean between his arse, and another toy, wider than almost anything he’d taken before was pushed into him. The flare at the base nestled between his buttocks, and he squirmed against it, uncomfortably full. It didn't budge, only made him want to rub himself on something like a mindless little animal in heat.

He choked on the gag, and felt sticky sweet spit at the corners of his mouth as he was plugged. He was going to suffocate on a real, live, candy flavored dick. Only in Hell. He closed his eyes, raised his head carefully and remembered to breath in through his nose.

A mesh of silver was pulled over his cock and laced behind, white satin ribbons criss-crossing over the swell of his buttocks. The demon lord pulled at the strings and tied a neat white bow at the small of his back.

“There, that should keep you loose. Do you like it, my dear? You look positively _angelic_. A used and filthy heavenly whore. Did you think you could fool me, godling? By pretending you were unwilling, that you were doing this for the good, pretending you were prying little secrets and pandering to my good will? Or did you think we were _lovers_? There is no _love_ in Hell,” he whispered, the corners of his fine thin-lipped mouth curling up into the faintest of sneers.

The demons scurried onto the altar and pulled a soft white shirt over him, the fine cotton soaking up the demon spunk on his skin. They lost interest in groping him, finding much more glee in primping him in this mockery of purity. The sleeves, too long for his arms, were pulled back and knotted behind him, like wings broken mid-flight.

“You dream of your brother, don’t you, my sweet? You count the days till you’re finally old enough, until his _conscience_ breaks down and you can offer up your innocence, precious and pure like a perfect fruit for him to pluck? Did you think you could trick him, too? Play the blushing virgin who falls, oh so bashfully into his arms? Well, we shall serve him up a lovely treat for All Hallow’s Eve. I’ll send you to him all trussed up and soiled, smeared and stinking of demon sex from all comers.”

Loki wriggled, trying to rid himself of the plug to no avail. That, too, had been smeared with something that smelled cloying and sickeningly sweet, like over-ripe peaches. Worse, it made him itch inside in a maddening way, and, he realized, it made him hard, and it would keep him hard for however long, with no relief.

Frantically, he tried to rub himself against the stone of the altar, and moaned against the gag as the silver mess dragged at the too-sensitive skin of his cock. Mephisto laughed.

“Just a little something to keep you in the mood. Think of it. Think of how he’ll look at you now, how your brother’s eyes shall be opened to the truth, and he will see you for what you really are. A filthy demon’s slut, debased and disgusting and rotten to the core, _as you always have been_. He’ll never touch you now. Or if he does…” the demon chuckled at that, “your dear brother knows well-enough how to wipe his cock on a used-up rag and walk away. Did you think it would be different this time? That you could be _better_ somehow? Sweet, sweet Loki. Things never _change_.”

The lord of the underworld patted his cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“Never lie to yourself, my dear boy. Open your eyes, and see.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4, Of Trickery and Treats will be up tomorrow.
> 
> [eta] aak! Running late! Definitely here for Halloween!


	4. Of Trickery and Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all this mess, there was definitely a trick wrapped up inside another trick somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Halloween. And the end of Loki's run on _Journey into Mystery_.

 

 

Thor had left him alone. He had gone away and left his brother with people who disliked him, then abandoned him again with ‘barbarians.’ Loki had said that.

Of course there was the small matter of Thor _dying_ and having to fight his way back to the living again. Loki should understand that better than anyone. As for ‘barbarians,’ Loki did not seem to mind Midgard so much anymore. He seemed to prefer it to Asgard these days.

Which again brought Thor back to the point, which was of leaving Loki alone to his own devices. He only wanted Loki to make his own way with a fresh start. That was all he had meant to do, give Loki another chance. Thor didn’t _mean_ to neglect him. It wasn’t _deliberate._

“Oh, Thor,” Sif had said with a sigh. “You don’t mean to take _that_ up again, do you? Not this time?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, ducking his head to search for his boots under the bed. Sif was always a little too sharp for his own comfort.

“You know exactly what I mean,” said Sif. She looked so lovely in the mornings, and less likely to take your head off with a swing of her sword. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, though. “It’s all in what you’re _not_ doing.”

“If I’m not doing anything, then there is nothing to concern you.”

“ _My_ concern is not the issue, here –”

“There _is_ no issue, here.”

“You don’t carry him anymore,” said Sif baldly. “Are you afraid of touching him now? You weren’t so cautious before. Is it because you want to do more?”

“If this comes from spite and jealousy, it does not suit you, Sif.”

Sif sighed heavily, patiently, which meant she was trying hard not to kick his feet out from under him.

“Are you avoiding your brother because you are afraid of yourself?” she asked. “Are you afraid of what you might do?”

Thor snorted through his nose. “I am not _afraid_ of anything.”

“Don’t change the subject. Or is it shame? It never stopped you before –”

“And perhaps I wish things to be different now!” roared Thor, finally breaking. “Perhaps I wish to amend my ways, so he may amend his – nay, so he may have a chance to be _good_ this time. And I will not wreck that chance! I will not be the one to lead him astray!”

Sif gave him a long even glance over her shoulder, then slowly turned around to face him, slowly brushing out her long dark hair. She reminded him of Jane when she had that look on her face, sweet, clever Jane Foster when she was all wrapped up in a question.

“Yes, who knows what Loki might become, even with the best of intentions. Raining destruction down on Midgard, releasing Storm Giants, the Destroyer, and that other loathsome henchmen – the strange absorbing one – on his fellow Asgardians, usurping the throne, Ragnarok… those are a few things I wish he would avoid this time around. Sleeping with you,” she was saying slowly, turning over the thought in her mind. Then, she burst into a fit of giggles. “Not on his list of top ten crimes.”

“If you tire of me, lady, you need only say the word,” said Thor testily.

“I shall,” Sif assured him with an amused little grin. “I was only venturing a guess.”

“I would rather you wouldn’t,” said Thor.

“ _I_ would rather you took him to bed than he set fire to the world.”

“Sif!” cried Thor, appalled. “He is but a _boy!”_

Sif looked at him curiously. “Aye, a boy. A boy who is a thousand-years old and who knows how many handful of years more. This is new. Do you follow particular Midgardian tenets now? Two-thousand years ago on a scattering of islands, twelve was frowned upon but the chaste wooing of boys was encouraged. Five-hundred years in another corner, fifteen was respectable, but only if you desired girls. So many different places, so many rules. I wonder if I should make up a chart to distinguish them. Perhaps they are finicky about the ways and means of childbirth as well.”

“I am _not_ interested in bedding my _brother,”_ insisted Thor.

“Oh, pity,” she said. Sif was rifling through a mass of papers. “Because he only has eyes for you.”

“What?”

 

§

 

Sif was wrong, of course. Loki was not looking upon him with lascivious eyes. Loki did not look upon _anyone_ that way.

His newly reborn little brother had many and varied interests: Midgardian electronic devices, milkshakes and dogs and games, old books, new spells, and a thousand fascinating stories. He was not like other boys his age, or indeed like Thor had been at that age, graceless and awkward, turning into a gibbering, blushing idiot because of his fancies.

Loki was an glittering icicle, a charming, happy smart-mouthed innocent who looked upon the fumblings of desire with the boredom of a knowing child. Sex was _beneath_ him.

Hmm… perhaps Thor should be a _little_ worried. Perhaps he should pay Loki a visit. Thor was contemplating the wisdom of this, and thereby burying the disturbing kernel that Sif had dug up that morning, when he received a missive. It said simply, in Loki’s crooked script:

 _Midgard_.

_Help!_

 

§

 

 

Of all the confounded, cryptic messages he’d gotten, this last one was the worst.

_Midgard._

_Where_ exactly on Midgard? Midgard was not such a small or tidy place. Loki could be anywhere.

Loki was not in England, where he was last seen, or Paris, or Kolkatta, where he might have run off to to tease the good Dr Banner. Nor was he in San Francisco, Shanghai, or Fez. Loki had said he’d wanted to go to Fez once.

Thor turned the city inside out, and went down the list, but at the end of the day found nothing. Perhaps this was a jest. A very unfunny jest that Loki had decided to play on him. It was, after all, the season of mischief.

Tired and feeling quite unamused, Thor turned back. He was too tired to make his way to Asgard tonight. Any port in the storm….

 

After many years of visiting Midgard, he was accustomed to the strange costumes the mortals chose to wear at the end of the harvest season. To frighten away evil spirits by dressing as them, or so they claimed. There were several children, and even adults, dressed as Avengers. Making his way to Stark Tower, he passed several little Thors, and even a lady Thor whose armor was more revealing of her plenteous assets than protective.

So, Thor was not too startled when a thin man with bright red demon skin walked by, dressed in an immaculate red and grey pinstripe suit. He seemed to have styled his hair so it would resemble flickering flames. It was quite ingenious.

“Trick or treat, Thunder God,” said the man, flashing him a blinding white smile.

Thor gave the man a courteous nod – he wished for neither, or both, but that was not a matter to go into depth with strangers. He thought no more of it.

 

He still had his suite of rooms in Stark Tower – Thor was touched by that. It was a considerate gesture on the part of Tony Stark that Thor should, as he put it, ‘always have a pad to crash’ when he had his sojourn in Midgard.

The building was mostly empty except for the top floor; the Man of Iron was celebrating his Feast of Ghouls by throwing a loud and raucous party. Thor had been invited – several times – but he was weary and he wished to be left alone, far away from the noise and confusion, away from flamboyantly dressed mortals so anxious for comfort and intimacy that they should throw themselves upon strangers for succor.

He would find his wax ear-buds, obtain a warm herbal drink, and go straight to bed.

Those plans dispersed, like the last wisps of smoke before a storm, when he found what had been left in his bed.

 

§

 

He tried struggling to get out of his bonds. No use. He only ended up rubbing himself against the sheets, and _that_ just made it worse.

Loki almost cried when, after rubbing himself raw on the delicate silver netted around his cock, he ended up spilling his seed, and it leaked through the mesh and stained the sheets.

It didn’t give him any relief either – whatever ointment was on the plug or Mephisto’s own demon cum, he didn’t know – only gave him an itch somewhere deep that he couldn’t scratch, and it made him hard again. His calves ached, his ankles yanked back and tied to his wrists for what felt like hours. He couldn’t feel his arms.

He thought he would go out rutting against the mattress, alone, forgotten, milked dry, tired out, and still not satisfied. When the door opened a triangle of light into the room, and solemn footsteps approached the bed, Loki fervently wished he was dead.

As if wishing ever helped anyone.

 

§

 

His room in Stark Tower, unslept in for months, stank of sex, and at first Thor thought irritably that one of Tony Stark’s more amorous guests had wandered into his room and made use of his bed. Then he looked down and his eyes met the wide, horrified eyes of his little brother.

It was Loki who looked away first, burying his face in the white sheets. _He_ couldn’t say anything. Thor felt his heart stop in his chest when he saw the glint of gold over his brother’s lips.

They’d sewn his lips – no, no, no, after bringing him back anew, without the horrors of his past to haunt him, they had gone and _sewn his lips -_

 

No.

It was only a gauzy gold kerchief tied around his mouth. _Only._

Thor slipped his finger under the silk and pushed it down over the boy’s chin. There was more. This was no time for questions. He untied the silk kerchief, wiping the spit from around Loki’s mouth and pulled out whatever it was that had been shoved into his mouth.

It was in the shape of a man’s member, and a very well endowed likeness of one at that. It was obscene.

Startled, Thor dropped it on the bed, and it fell right in front of his brother’s face, wet and glistening with his spit. It should not be anywhere near his brother. And yet, it had been shoved into his mouth.

For a moment, Loki had stopped his struggling and lay there, arched backwards like a bow. The silence was broken by the sound of coughing and hacking, as Loki tried to recover, and Thor resumed untying the bonds around his brother’s hands and feet.

Worse and worse.

He stank of debauchery, and what was once a very fine shirt was stuck to his skin with dried seed – Thor felt his vision go red, and almost tore that remnant of filth from his younger brother when Loki tried to raise a hand and stopped to cough again.

“Don’t –” Loki’s voice was hoarse and low, and he had never sounded so defeated. “I… it might take the skin off with it.”

Thor unloosened the bonds, but left the shirt hanging off his shoulders, and rushed to run the bath.

When he returned, Loki was tugging at the bonds at his back, wincing as the blood started flowing back into his hands again.

“Stop,” ordered Thor, not trusting himself not to sound harsh. “You’ll break your wrists that way.” He sat down at the edge of the bed to undo the last knot, and saw what Loki had been in such a rush to rid himself of.

His slim, boyish buttocks were trussed up in a harlot’s skimpy finery.

The disgust must have crept onto his face – not so much the sudden and shameful heat in his groin – and Loki tried to scramble off the bed. Thor caught his arms, a wriggling, manic little fury.

“Let go, let go of me, don’t touch me –” hissed Loki, angry as a trapped wildcat, and Thor dropped his hands from his brother, as if he were a lump of hot coal. How could he? How could he lay rough hands on his brother when it was clear – 

“Who did this to you?” he demanded. “Who dared touch you? Who _raped you?”_

He thought he had seen the worst when he saw his innocent little brother’s face turn away from him in shame. It was nothing to the hot angry tears that spilled down his cheeks at that, as if Thor had torn away his world and crushed it under his callous bootstep.

§

 

He thought facing Thor’s disgust would be the worst. Loki thought he couldn’t bear seeing that look on Thor’s face – just as Mephisto had said, he was horrified when he found out – and it burned, he thought, worse than anything.

But it wasn’t the worst. It wasn’t as bad as the pity.

Because when Thor looked at him again, when his noble nature shook away his disgust, his eyes gentled and looked upon Loki as he would an abused innocent, someone small and weak and fragile. And broken.

Thor would never touch him now. He would never lay hands on a victim. His chance was slipping, hope was dying, and that door was closing, just as Thor’s strong arms lifted him gently from the bed, and Loki struggled, pushing and kicking at him as he was carried to the bath. It was as effective as eggs thrown against a boulder.

“No one!” shouted Loki. “Nobody _raped me_. I wanted it! I wanted all of it. I asked him to do this to me. I wanted him to fuck me. I _begged for it –”_

“Hush,” said Thor, terribly.

“I wanted to do it. I let him fuck me! I'm stupid and horny all the time because of you! I can’t get enough cock to stop thinking about – ”

Without warning, Thor dropped him in the bath, and he swallowed bubbles. 

_Bubblebath? Strawberry bubblegum bubblebath?_ Of all the - ! 

Thor thought he was a _baby!_ He’d done _stuff!_ He’d done stuff that would make Thor blush and stutter! He'd show him!

“You’re too young,” his brother was saying. “You’re far too young for any of this.”

He was perched on a low footstool next to the tub, hanging his head and refusing to look at him.

“Says you,” said Loki, glowering at him from under his wet hair, the suds sliding down the side of his face. “I’m old enough.”

Thor made a sound, halfway between a grunt and a snort.

“Old enough to suckle at a mother’s breast,” he said, then sat up abruptly. “Was it a _woman_ who did this?” demanded Thor, like he was steeling himself to punch a woman in the face if he had to. A scary-ass woman, Thor was probably imagining, nine-feet tall and all dressed up in dominatrix leathers with a riding whip ready to spank him – oh, yeah –

Loki made an annoyed face at him. It wasn’t just mouthing off at Thor. That damned plug was still itching up his arse, and he couldn’t _believe_ this.

“My boyfriend’s _way_ older than you are,” he said, in a snotty voice, “and _way_ more experienced. We do all sorts of hot, perverted stuff in bed –”  he’d never actually done it in a bed,  “ – and he wants me, like, _all the time,_ and he’s got this _really huge_ dick and he likes to make me –”

There was something like a growl from Thor this time, and Loki looked up, and against all odds, hope was stirring. Thor was rubbing his face like he wanted to rub it off completely.

“Your _boyfriend_ …” he was muttering, “and he left you like this….”

Loki sunk low in the bath. His hands were tingling like a thousand needles jabbing at him at once. Gingerly he flexed his ankles. Stupid demon, tying him up so tight, like he was in some kind of real hostage thingy. Like demons would even understand the concept of fluffy handcuffs.

“So yeah, maybe I pissed him off a little,” muttered Loki, scattering a mountain of bubblegum-scented bubbles. “So maybe I was, like, _soooo_ horny and insatiable that he couldn’t handle a hot little number like me ordering him around in be–”

“ _Hush!”_

The water had soaked through and softened the dried demon spunk, and the shirt floated around him. Loki gathered it, dripping and soggy, and tossed it out of the bath. It made a sodden mess on the tiles. Thor didn’t deign to look at it.

They didn’t say anything for a while. The hot water from the tub was steaming up the bathroom.

“Thor?” he said in a tiny voice. His brother was staring glumly at his own feet.

“Thor?” he tried again. He tugged idly at the ribbons, loosening them under the bubbles, and the bindings and the silver mesh came off, rising to the surface like a dead jellyfish. Quietly, he slid that out of the bath, too.

“Do you hate me now?”

Thor raised his head. “What?”

“Do you hate me now… because I’m, like, dirty and stuff? Do you think I’m… do you think I’m… filth?”

_“What?”_

“He said…. He said you would.” In the bath, Loki poked discreetly at the edges of the plug, and winced. “He said you’d think I was awful once you found out about it. This. You know. He said you wouldn’t look at me except to spit on me. He said –”

And Loki was pulled halfway out of the bath and crushed against a steel breastplate in his brother’s embrace.

“ _He_ says too much, and knows too little of truth,” said Thor. His vambraces were digging into a tender spot on Loki’s wet back, but he didn’t care.

When Thor finally let go, Loki leaned on the edge of the tub and looked up at his brother, and Thor smiled finally – a weak one almost tipping the scales into sadness, but it was a smile – and he brushed the soap suds off Loki’s forehead.

“Maybe he just…”

“Enough about _him,”_ said Thor, and he stroked Loki’s cheek, the line of his jaw, and it was different when it was Thor. It was different when that gentleness _meant_ something.

“So maybe he was jealous,” whispered Loki, looking up at him through wet lashes. “Jealous because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

And this time, Thor’s smile didn’t look so sad any more, and just a little smug.

“So, you _wanted_ this,” said Thor.

“Like I’ve been saying all along,” said Loki. “How else was I going to end up naked with you?"

And Thor's eyes glinted, not so gentle now. Loki grinned.

"Scrub my back, brother?”

§

 

The bath tub was too large. And this was just a guest suite. Damn that Tony Stark and his overblown sense of extravagance. Thor was leaning against the edge, resting his head back, and not intruding in Loki’s space _at all_. For all that baths were supposed to be relaxing, he looked tense as… well, Loki knew on good authority that Hell wasn’t all that tensed up.

Loki drew his knees up in the water and fiddled with the base of the plug. Thor was trying hard not to look at him, which was harder since a lot of the bubbles had popped down, and most of what was left was a flat pinkish foam on the surface of the water.

“Do you think I’m bad, now?” Loki mumbled. The plug wasn’t going to come out easily, and it was just his luck if it came out with a really embarrassingly loud _pop_. With _bubbles_.

“Not this again,” said Thor.

“Do you?”

Thor only smiled at him and shook his head.

“What if I end up bad, Thor? What if I was just bad all along. What if –”

“Shhh… you worry too much,” said Thor.

“You’d worry if you were me,” said Loki rebelliously. “It’s not like I _want_ to be bad, but I just end up tangled up in really complicated stuff, and then you have to catch me at it at the worst possible moment, and then it _looks_ really bad but actually –”

“You’re not _bad,”_ interrupted Thor. “There’s no such thing, only mistakes. And we can always overcome them, and try to change things for the better.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“But what if I make a _huge_ mistake, so huge that I can’t ever –”

“Then you will go on,” said Thor. “And keep going on. You must have faith, and above all faith in yourself.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” Thor was looking at him now, pinning him with that straight-on earnest, unflinching clear blue gaze that he had, and it was Loki who looked away, rubbing idly at his arms.

“Do you have faith in me?”

And Thor didn’t stop looking at him.

“Always.”

No matter what happened, no matter where he landed, no matter what he’d have to do. He’d hold on to that. Thor was making small waves with his hand, and fiddling with the panel of settings on the side. Warmer water whirled in, funneling out the lukewarm old bathwater from the bottom, and this time the bubbles were blue. Blueberry flavor. Man, Stark had _issues_. Not that it was any of Loki’s business.

The water buoyed his hips and he wriggled a little. The force of the stream tickled at him in exactly the wrong way, but this was the time to do it.

“Thor?” he asked, above the gentle hum of the bath.

“Yes?”

Thor had blue suds on his shoulders and clinging to his hair, and later, Loki was so going to build a ship made of bubbles on his head. Later.

“Could you help me get this plug out of my butt?”

§

 

He didn’t _have_ to fall forward into Thor’s space, didn’t _have_ to wrap his arms around Thor’s neck and hold him tight, but he did, as Thor found the plug and gingerly, oh so carefully, spread his cheeks and slowly and gently pulled out the toy.

“ _Ooof!”_

He didn’t have to fall, cock first against Thor’s chest either, and slide down, rubbing it all the way down and end up sitting in his lap, his legs wrapped around his brother.

Thor looked too startled to jump back at first, and then, when he tried to scuttle away, Loki was sitting right in his lap anyway and went along with him until he hit the edge of the tub.

They looked down, through the suds and wavery water, at the indistinct shape of Loki’s cock, hard and pressed up against Thor’s own cock, and stirring it awake.

Loki writhed against him, urging Thor to hardness.

“Loki, what are you –”

“It’s the stupid plug. It's doing this to me,” said Loki quickly. He wasn't lying, at least he wasn't sure he wasn't. Maybe it was actually true, he didn't _know_. “It had weird stuff on it. I’m really hard, Thor. I’ve been kind of _really_ horny all this time, didn’t you notice? I really appreciate the pep talk and all, but I really, really, _really_ need to come, like right now. I'm so hard, it _hurts_.”

Thor was staring at him, flabbergasted. Loki didn’t stop humping him.

“It’s got to be some kind of evil sex drug _,”_ said Loki, rubbing his cock against Thor’s desperately. That made sense, didn't it? It felt so good, and it was going to feel _so_ much better with a hand wrapped around them both… _yeah_. “Or a spell or something. You know! Haven’t you had this happen before? You’re a superhero! Didn’t anyone ever put an evil sex spell on you? Didn’t _I_ ever do it? Well, I should have! Come _on,_ Thor. I really _really_ need to come _really_ bad. _Please!_ What if I _die_ if I don’t get a good fuck? Do you want that to happen? You’d rather let your little brother _die_ than not fuck him? _Ohhh…”_

It didn’t take much.

He had, in the end, only a pubescent body, and he wasn’t lying when he said he’d been hard all this time, with his cock trapped in that infernal little silver net. Rubbing against Thor, stuff of dreams, with Thor’s cock against his cock in the grip of his too small hand, that had been more than enough. He spilled and spilled, the hot white fluid hitting the hard planes of Thor’s stomach, only to be washed away in the water.

Loki slumped, panting against his brother’s chest. This was it. It was short, but this was it. No matter how many demons fucked him, no matter how interminably long they drew it out, it wasn’t anything compared to a few precious moments of rubbing up against his brother – wait, not _few,_ lots, _lots!_ He lasted _way_ longer than that. It was all about where you started counting, honestly!

Thor was stroking his hair, and his shoulders, and running his large callused hand down one arm in a soothing way, like you’d gentle an excited little animal, and Loki sighed, wearily. Thor kissed his brow, and Loki wanted to stay this way forever, close and comforting. He smothered his face in the crook of Thor’s neck.

Wait a minute. He was getting hard again.

“No way, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

Yup, he was hard again.

He was still loose and open from the plug, and quickly he lifted himself up, gripping Thor’s still hard cock, and lowered himself down on it.

Thor’s eyes were wide, and his mouth dropped open as Loki’s mouth did the same, as they drew in the smallest, shallowest of gasps as Thor’s cock entered him slowly, filling him up so complete and full as no demon cock could, and oh, _this, this_ was what it felt like, to finally come home again, to feel so unbearably, excruciatingly, _wonderfully_ alive.

Fully seated, he held tight to Thor’s neck and sighed.

“I’m not _raping_ you, am I, Thor?” he asked, and Thor wrapped a hand around Loki’s cock, his other hand curled possessively around the base of Loki’s neck, which set off another faint memory. His head was full of bygones.

“What do you think?” said Thor, his voice barely a groan as Loki was riding him, pulling his length through that vibrant heat.

Loki cried out, shaking his head as Thor gripped him tight, held him by his slim, boyish waist, and sheathed Loki's hard, impatient cock inside his fist and pumped it, watching Loki’s eyes, the way his mouth formed a lovely _oh_ as Thor’s cock found that spot inside, and how it wrecked him and how he clung to Thor, and Thor thought couldn’t bear it. How his sweet little brother came apart in his arms with wanton lust, and still held him tight, as each stored up the memory of slide and burn, sensation and scintillation, skin against skin, and skin inside skin, as if this was the last time they would ever have together, instead of the beginning of something so secret and so perfect that it would last forever and ever and never die. And why, why should it, when now they knew how to feel and not to lie, wrapped up in each other and inside each other and never let go?

Thor must have come, and Loki too, their breaths mixed as he found Loki’s sweet boyish lips and his sweet eager tongue, the warm sudsy water washing away their pleasure and their joy in each other’s bodies that had no need for words.

 

When he awoke, Thor found himself on the bed, Loki curled up against his chest, twitching like a puppy chasing rabbits, and whimpering. He pulled the blankets up to cover him, and gathered him close to watch his little brother sleep.

Loki kicked, and cried out softly as if he was the one being chased by the monsters from the depths of his troubled mind, and Thor shook him gently.

“Loki, it’s only a dream,” he said, and when Loki turned from him, grumpy, he slid his thigh between his brother’s legs, and tucking his brother into the soft heat of his groin, eventually Thor fell asleep again.

What nightmares the future brought, they would overcome them together. Enough of trickery. Now was the time for treats.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe, stay dry, sweethearts.
> 
> Happy Halloween!


End file.
